


you got yourself a bad habit

by funfanfin



Series: we fall in love again and again and again [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Neighbor Spying, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Fluff, Mildly threatening anonymous notes, Weird habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funfanfin/pseuds/funfanfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke pulls up in her driveway at two in the morning to see her new neighbor watering his lawn with a garden hose, she’s a little concerned to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got yourself a bad habit

**Author's Note:**

> Based on prompt: "You’re my new neighbor and wow man, you have some really weird habits."

Clarke first meets her new neighbor at two in the morning in the middle of July. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, her mascara is smudged, and she’s pretty sure there’s still puke on her left tennis shoe from this hospital shift’s honorary Patient-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

She is the very definition of a hot mess. But it _is_ two in the morning, so she’s pretty sure she’s allowed to be. Everyone is asleep at two in the morning, including her across-the-street neighbor Anya, who Clarke has never seen wearing anything but exercise clothes and an I’m-better-than-you-and-you-know-it smirk.

So when Clarke pulls up in her driveway and some guy is watering his lawn with a garden hose next door, she’s a little concerned to say the least.

Her neighborhood is good, there’s little crime and the houses rival those of a romantic comedy protagonist’s ‘picket-white-fence’ pipedream. Suspicious activity _is_ suspicious activity, though, so she hesitates before getting out of her car.

She knows someone moved in a few weeks ago, after the previous homeowner inherited a hefty sum of money from his great, great, (great?), aunt back East and promptly bought a villa in Italy because why not, right?

Still, she knows nothing about the person who just moved in. She doesn’t know if they’re old or have any children, and she _definitely_ doesn’t know if they’re the type of person who waters their lawn at two in the morning.

Which is why Clarke grabs her Taser before stepping out her car. Just in case.

“Hey,” her neighbor calls across the fence separating their houses, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. His voice rumbles through the quiet night air. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” She replies, unsettled by how strangely _normal_ he’s acting. You know, considering his actions are _not normal_.

The warm, yellow light from his porchlight illuminates him. She sees he’s wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses. They’re sliding down his nose, casting soft shadows onto his sharp cheekbones. His hair is a curly black mess. Thumb over the end of the hose, he’s spraying water over his neatly-trimmed lawn like it’s normal. Which it’s _not_.

Clarke shoves her keys halfway in her front door, hesitating. Glancing over at him, she says, “I’m Clarke, by the way.”

He looks up at her. Her heart stutters, but only because she hasn’t slept in sixteen hours. It’s definitely not because of the soft smile he gives her.

“I’m Bellamy. Nice to meet you, Clarke,” he says, and starts watering his lawn again.

She furrows her brows and stares at him for a second. Shaking her head, she turns the key and remembers that there’s a soft, glorious, heavenly bed waiting for her upstairs.

**

The second time she sees him, it’s through her kitchen window.

She’s not being intentionally creepy, it’s just that his kitchen window is literally right across from hers and she just zones out when she’s doing the dishes, resulting in some accidental neighbor spying.

She snaps out of her long day induced daze when he walks into his kitchen, wearing nothing but TMNT boxers and a legitimate cowboy hat.

Mouth dropping, she nearly breaks a plate at the sight. Flustered, she wipes a soap-covered hand over her forehead, groaning when she realizes that there are suds in her hair.

Bellamy looks up at the sound and she ducks, cursing under her breath.

After nearly ten minutes pass, she chances a glance out the window. He’s gone.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she washes the rest of her dishes, her mind flitting between ‘ _he’s so weird, I hope we never go out to get our mail at the same time’_ and _‘he’s so hot, I hope he throws a neighborhood barbeque and invites me to it_ ’.

She would have let it go, if she hadn’t seen him through the window three days later, wearing boxers with Yoda on them (she half wonders if he’s got Kermit the Frog ones tucked away somewhere) and a graduation cap on his head.  

**

The next time she sees Bellamy, she wonders if she should even be surprised anymore.

He's riding his bicycle, helmet covering what must be an unruly case of helmet hair, and he's brushing his teeth.

She gapes at him from her living room window. 

First of all,  _why?_

Second of all, _doesn't he realize how dangerous that is?_

Thirdly, _who brushes their teeth while riding a bicycle?_

Clarke spends the morning googling toothbrush-bicycle related accidents, and is only semi-relieved to find there are no recorded cases. She almost walks up to his door to tell him how stupid it is to brush your teeth while riding a bicycle. Mostly because  _it is stupid_ , and mostly because she doesn't want him to be the first recorded toothbrush-bicycle related recorded accident. 

Ultimately, she leaves an anonymous note in his mailbox, complete with pictures of admittedly terrifying dental trauma x-rays. 

**

Three weeks go by and Clarke can’t take it anymore.

Bellamy waters his lawn at two in the morning every other day, wears weird boxers and random hats in the afternoons, and clearly cares more about dental hygiene than basic safety, no matter how many mildly threatening anonymous notes she leaves in his mailbox. 

She's had enough of his weird habits. 

A plate of warm, chocolate chip cookies in hand, her hair done up and her makeup perfectly not-smudged, she knocks on his door.

The door opens, and she’s half-disappointed that he’s wearing a shirt.

“Clarke?” He asks sleepily, apparently not expecting her to show up on his doorstep at two-thirty in the morning. “What are you—”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really weird habits?” She blurts, shoving the chocolate chip cookies over.

He barks out a surprised laugh. “Uh, no, you’re actually the first.”

“Oh.”

“Has anyone ever told you that _you_ have really weird habits?”

Clarke frowns. “What? No. Because I don’t have any weird habits.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Clarke, you listen to Beethoven when you do your dishes, which sure, isn’t _that_ weird,” he pauses, looking at her, “but then you start rapping along to it. You legitimately spit rhymes to Beethoven.”

“How—”

“Your kitchen window is right across from mine,” he explains.

“Whatever,” she retorts, embarrassed. “That’s not even that weird.”

“You sit in your car for two whole minutes when you get home from work, gripping the steering wheel and staring at your garage door until your headlights turn off.”

“You water your lawn at two in the morning!” She shoots back, defensive. 

“Have you seen the water bill here? It’s insane. I’d rather wake up and water my lawn at night than water it during the day when the sun soaks up half of it anyway.”

Clarke raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. “Fine, explain this: the boxers. And the hats.”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. Wetting his lips, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other self-consciously.

“Long story. But,” he concedes, “I’ll admit it’s a weird habit—”

“Ha!” Clarke exclaims, triumphant.

“— _only_ if you admit that it’s a weird habit to skip to your mailbox every day to get your mail.”

“I do not _skip_ —”

Bellamy gives her a look.

Sighing, she relents. “Fine. It’s a weird habit, okay?” She clears her throat, shoving the cookies over. “This is the last time I try to be a nice, friendly neighbor,” she says half-heartedly.

“Clarke, wait,” he says, opening the door fully and stepping to the side. “Do you maybe—do you want to come in?”

Clarke nods, biting back a smile. “Only if you promise to stop brushing your teeth while riding your bike.”

"You're the one who keeps leaving those notes in my mailbox?" He shakes his head. "Those x-rays are _terrifying_."

"So you _do_ get my notes," she observes, walking past him into the house. "Good to know."

 

By sunrise, he has promised to stop brushing his teeth while riding his bike, and she has promised to stop leaving frightening x-rays in his mailbox.  

**

Two years later, they hold a barbeque/housewarming party at their new home, in their new neighborhood.  

One of their new neighbors, Roan, comes up to Clarke, formally introducing himself. 

“Saw you two washing your car at four in the morning again,” he mentions, casual. “You guys seem to have some pretty weird habits.”

She laughs. “You have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> unedited, because i have a bad habit (see what i did there) of editing until my brains turn to mush.  
> all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Reviews are as welcome as doormats. That's a bad comparison. What I'm trying to say is: I love reviews and I'd love it if you took the time to leave one!


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